


In Whatever Shape or Form it May Come

by protectthesandwich



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy Centric, I promise this is not as morbid as it could have been, Original Character Death(s), Pre-Series, Shenanigans, Wakes & Funerals, Weddings, like the lead up to Jake/Amy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectthesandwich/pseuds/protectthesandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terry had encouraged as many as could make the funeral as possible to go, something about boosting the NYPD’s public image but only the four of them had had a free morning and, looking around, Amy kind of wishes she hadn’t come.</p>
<p>She wonders if this is what her funeral will be like, a few friends, family and all the police officers that could make it.</p>
<p>Or: Amy and Jake attend four funerals and a wedding</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Whatever Shape or Form it May Come

i.

Amy has been with Nine-Nine for just over five months now and it still doesn't feel comfortable. This is only her second posting from police academy, and after a disastrous stint at the Seventy-Eight she is determined to stick it out. It would look bad to ask for two transfers in less than a year, and this is still better than the creep of a sergeant at the Seventy-Eight who used to leer at her ass whenever she handed in reports.

Her partner, Detective Peralta, is the most insufferable person she’s ever met, he never takes anything seriously and on her third day of work he filled her desk with marbles. She’s not sure if he’s figured out that he’s her arch-nemesis but she’s been sending him death glares for weeks now. He might just think that’s how her face looks. Boyle is better, as long as he’s not singing Peralta’s glories. Or talking about food. Or complaining about the messy divorce with his wife. As long as Boyle is quiet, he and Amy get along fine.

Amy glances at the both of them on the bench next to her. Peralta’s leg is jiggling but apart from that his eyes are focussed forward. Boyle is already crying into a handkerchief. Right. This is a funeral, Amy reminds herself. She didn’t know Detective Walker at all, although he’s who she replaced and she had been meaning to send him flowers on his retirement for ages. The precinct seems very fond of him and it’s a little sobering to know that the last person who sat at her desk is now in a coffin. Sergeant Jeffords gets up to speak and Amy feels a stab of guilt. Here she is, complaining about her co-workers when someone has died. She sneaks another look at Peralta and he’s definitely tearing up.

On stage Jeffords’ voice breaks.

All at once Amy feels angry at herself for her flippant attitude and strangely isolated. She’s been working with these people for five months now and she’s still not sure if the receptionist is called Tina or Gina, but here they are honouring their dead friend, comforting each other. She is on the outside of their grief. Jeffords nods at Peralta as he sits back down and the pallbearers move into position; everyone stands and Peralta puts his arm around Boyle.

‘Here.’ Amy whispers and she shoves a tissue into Peralta’s hand. Peralta looks surprised and Amy scowls because she’s a _nice person_. She’s not going to refuse someone a tissue at a funeral.

-

The wake is held outside, where Amy’s first thought is that the slabs of concrete making up the patio are uneven, the second is that everything is overwhelmingly gray and the third is that is already slowly dripping with rain. Amy doesn't want to leave before everyone else, but doesn't particularly want to make small talk either. Jeffords and Captain McGintley are talking to the widow, Gina/Tina has been in the restroom for going on twenty minutes and Boyle is over by the buffet. Amy approaches Peralta who’s standing on the edge of the crowd scuffing his feet on the patio.

‘I don’t remember if I’ve said this already,’ Amy says, ‘but I’m really sorry.’

‘Yeah.’ Peralta stares at his feet, admiring the scratches on the side of his shoes. ‘Funerals suck.’

There’s an awkward pause and Amy feels at loss; she’s never seen Peralta this serious, and with his eyes red and his shirt neat for once, he seems strangely vulnerable. And Amy never, ever, thought she would miss the happy-go-lucky Peralta that she usually encounters but right now she just wishes she didn’t know what he looked like crying.

‘My grandmother died a few years ago,’ Peralta confesses, still refusing to make eye contact, ‘and it’s the worst. No-one knows what to say, so we all just talk about weather and last night’s game and-’ Peralta breaks off, running a hand through his hair. ‘It’s just the worst, you know?’

‘Yeah. I get it. My Aunt died last year, and it’s like everyone just doesn't how deal with it. So they just move on, talk around it.’

‘Right?! Like we don’t know how to react so we’ll just pretend it never happened.’ Peralta finally meets her gaze. ‘It’s just this big charade.’

‘I don’t know, I think it’s kind of comforting. His wife doesn't want to talk about his death, she wants to talk about his life, or maybe about the weather, I'm not entirely sure. It’s a charade sure, but maybe that’s easier.’ Amy remembers her mother reminiscing about her sister’s cooking, preferring to talk about Paulo’s work or Michael’s kids than dwelling on her sister's last months in hospital.

‘I guess.’ They pause for a few minutes, and Amy is about to move to check that Tina/Gina hasn’t fallen into the toilet or been kidnapped when Peralta speaks again. ‘I didn’t mean for this to get all depressing or whatever. I really liked Walker, and it sucks, but I didn’t need to drag you down with me.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Amy reassures him. She hesitates for a second then gestures towards the restrooms. ‘I’m going to go check on Tina.’ Amy makes her way towards the restroom tripping slightly over the uneven slabs.

‘It’s Gina!’ Peralta calls after her. Amy looks back just as the rain begins to fall in earnest.

‘Thanks!’ She calls back as everyone starts pushing past her to move inside. Peralta gives her a thumbs up and grins.

‘There you are Amy,’ Gina purrs, suddenly taking her elbow. ‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere! I just met the most delicious young lawyer and I need to borrow your car pronto.’

 

ii.

‘Okay,’ Peralta murmurs, ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. I am Sebastian Seacrumpet, English sailor extraordinaire and old friend of the deceased. I have come to claim the last of the seven keys that will open a secret door at the bottom of the ocean.’ Amy rolls her eyes, she tries to ignore Peralta when he's like this, but it's hard when his logic is so skewered.

‘And what does this secret door lead to?’ She whispers back and shifts in the uncomfortable pews as the priest drones on.

‘Priceless paintings, obviously.’

‘At the bottom of the ocean?’ An elderly women turns back to give Amy a dirty look and she lowers her voice before continuing. ‘You know that’s incredibly infeasible.’

‘Infeasible. Good word, Santiago. And no, they won’t get wet because I installed a state of art air locking system.’

‘Of course, it’s completely clear now.’ Amy rolls her eyes again even though she knows Peralta can’t see her. She didn’t mind this sort of banter; Jake was usually manageable when they were on a case. It was the moments when he decided to host office chair derby or hum high F sharp all day that she really wanted to strangle him.

‘You can be my beautiful, well,’ Peralta glances at her, ‘my knowledgeable assistant, who’s _desperately_ in love with me, but knows that my true love is the sea.’

And moments like this.

‘No-one would catch me, you know. I could get aware with your murder scot-free.’

‘Whoa, violent thoughts from Santiago today! Didn't you get your coffee this morning? That’s it; I'm texting the Sarge to tell him you’re the prime suspect if I get murdered.’ Jake gives her a haughty look, whipping out his phone, dislodging his sunglasses and they clatter to the floor. The elderly woman swivels around again to fix them both with a glare and both Amy and Peralta valiantly try to avoid eye contact. They sit in silence for a few moments before being asked to stand by the priest.

‘Okay, I can see our suspect. Back two pews, second guy in.’ Jake is whispering uncomfortable close to her ear but Amy doesn't flinch. Brushing her hair back, Amy subtly turns her head scanning the crowd. There must have been over four hundred people here; who knew being ex-Mafia would make a dead guy so popular?

‘In the red tie,’ Peralta hisses helpfully, ‘don’t be too obvious.’ Amy finally spots him just as everyone starts filing out of the pews. It frustrates her but Peralta could be really observant if he wanted to, often picking up on subtle details before she did.

‘Got him. Let’s go over the plan one more time.’

‘Nope.’ Peralta sidles away from her, shoots her a quick grin and strikes up conversation with the middle-aged balding man to his right. Amy grits her teeth and gets out the pew the opposite way, keeping her eyes firmly on their guy. When she’s a few feet away from him, she gets out her phone, pretending to be absorbed in her texts. With a quick look she perfectly times bumping into the suspect as he turns around.

‘Oh my goodness!’ Amy puts on her most winning smile. ‘I'm so sorry!’

‘Err, that’s okay. Don’t mention it.’ They guy goes to leave but Amy grabs his jacket sleeve.

‘No! I mean, how do you know Darryl?’ Amy forces him to look at her and gave him her puppy dog eyes.

‘I'm his grandson.’

‘You’re Hudson? Really? Darryl talked about you all the time!’ Hudson gives her an odd look.

‘How did you know my grandfather again?’

‘Oh, you know. Here and there. We walked our dogs at the same park!’ Hudson narrows his eyes, giving her an even shifter look.

‘I didn’t know my granddad had a dog-’

‘Oh it wasn't his! It was his neighbours. There she is, hi Fiona!’ Amy grins and waves manically at a woman in a black coat on the other side of the church.

‘Right. Nice meeting you.’ Hudson abruptly moves away after fixing her with a fierce scowl. Amy sighs heavily and starts to tie her hair back when Jake taps her elbow. Wordlessly they head towards the enormous wooden doors that lead out on the street.

‘Nice flailing there, Santiago. ‘It was his neighbour’s dog!’’ Peralta’s impression of her is all high pitched and big eyed and completely inaccurate.

‘This is why I said you should distract him. I'm not amazing under pressure.’ Amy admits, grumbling.

‘I thought this was why we came up with backstories?’

‘What, Sebastian Seabiscuit’s assistant?’

‘That’s Captain Seacrumpet to you.’ Before Amy knew what was happening, Peralta was dragging her into one of her favourite coffee places near Prospect Park. Catching her disapproving expression Peralta shrugs and tells her that they aren't expected back for another half hour anyway.

‘I kind of thought you would have come up with something by yourself.’ Peralta informs her, carrying their coffees over to an empty table.

‘Sorry?’

‘A cover.’ Peralta clarifies. ‘We should definitely discuss that in more detail next time.’

‘Next time, you’ll do the talking,’ warns Amy. ‘I made a complete fool of myself.’

‘Nah, you didn't, you probably just need to work on it. Plus, totally worth it, he’s definitely behind the Rosewood case.’ Amy punches his arm and Jake’s coffee slops over the side of his cup and onto his only pair of smart pants. ‘Ouch, Santiago!’

‘Oh grow up, Peralta. Why didn't you tell me you saw the tattoos?!’

‘You seemed dejected. There’s nothing you love more than dwelling on your mistakes, so I thought why not let you wallow a bit? And I mean, come on, _neighbour’s dog_ deserves a little bit of self-doubt.’ Peralta grins at her like this is the funniest thing ever. ‘But yeah, our witness was right about the three stars and he also had those weird neck tattoos.’

‘Yes!’ Amy holds up her hand for a high five, glad that their two months of work had paid off and that she hadn't messed it up with her terrible lying. Peralta eyes her hand suspiciously before finally high fiving her. Amy waits a second, sips her coffee, and then lightly punches him on the arm again.

‘Come on, Santiago, you know these are my best pants!’

 

iii.

Amy’s tights are ripped already, and they were straight from the packet this morning, especially for this funeral. Amy leans back glancing behind Boyle, who’s sniffing slightly, and Diaz, who only joined the precinct a few months ago, to catch Peralta’s eye. She gestures furiously towards the massive hole below her knee and Jake smirks slightly before turning back towards the front.

It’s a little weird, and Peralta definitely, _absolutely_ , still drives her up the wall 90% of the time, but more and more often Amy finds herself looking towards Peralta with every bizarre turn of events. Every time Boyle wears something with tassels, or Gina gossips about the rotating members of her dance squad or Hitchcock clips his toenails during a briefing, Amy will find herself looking towards Jake for a quick quip, an eye roll, a mirrored exasperated glance. There are still times when Amy wonders what exactly goes on in Jake’s head, but just as many times when she gets what he means in an instant.

The vicar asks them to stand to sing _Amazing Grace_ and Peralta shoots her a knowing glance. Amy rearranges her thoughts, pulls her skirt down as far as it goes and hopes no-one looks at her knees. The whole squad was invited to the funeral, Peralta and Charles found the old lady’s cat or something a couple of months back and Amy suspects that her daughter was trying to make up numbers. Amy quickly scans the room, a constant habit after nearly three years in the NYPD. There are a couple of elderly people and a small group of family right by the front, a couple holding hands to their right and three women, all silently crying, behind them.

Terry had encouraged as many as could make the funeral as possible to go, something about boosting the NYPD’s public image but only the four of them had had a free morning and, looking around, Amy kind of wishes she hadn't come.

She wonders if this is what her funeral will be like, a few friends, family and all the police officers that could make it.

For someone who attends funerals semi-regularly, Amy isn't one to dwell on death. Maybe it’s the job, maybe it’s just her, but right now Amy takes a second to breathe in and appreciate that there’s more to life than ripped tights. Then Diaz looks down at her knees, raises an eyebrow and Amy could just die.

-

The service is a short one, and Amy is about to scuttle away to binge-watch _Law and Order_ before she has to be at work but Jake gestures towards a sandwich shop and she follows without thinking. Boyle mutters about organic mustard the whole time they’re ordering, but Jake is strangely quiet, missing a prime opportunity for ribbing when Charles over-pronounces parma ham. Amy suspects Peralta’s more affected by funerals than he lets on and when he proposes a toast ‘To Gladys’, raising his coke, she doesn't question it.

When they sit down Amy peers curiously at Diaz’s sandwich but from the looks of it, it’s just cheese. Another enigma. In five months, Diaz and Amy have had exactly zero personal conversations and all Amy knows is that she doesn’t like quinoa (don’t ask) and her first name is Rosa. And she only knows the second one because she and Jake were at police academy together. Unlike Amy, who resorts to an awkward-thirteen-year-old-anglerfish around her, Diaz and Jake seem to have a mutual understanding that involves communication without Diaz talking. Once she even saw Diaz smile when Peralta walked into a streetlight.

Boyle and Diaz have a different mutual agreement in which Charles squeaks whenever she addresses him and he goes out of his way to avoid her.

The chatter of the rest of the café doesn't mask the undeniably awkward silence between the four of them as they eat. Boyle is meticulously examining his ‘Jambon-beurre’, Peralta is staring off into the distance, Diaz is, as always, completely soundless, and Amy is over-analysing everything.

‘So, Santiago,’ Diaz pauses from eating and Amy nearly yelps at Diaz actually _talking_ to her, ‘how’s the Schmidt case progressing?’

‘Oh you know, pretty good. Well, actually, not really – we’re not close to catching the guy yet, and our list of suspect is quite short…’ Amy awkwardly trails off and avoids looking at Peralta who she knows must be looking insufferably amused right now.

‘We were only assigned yesterday,’ Peralta chips in, ‘but we’ll get him. Go Pantiago!’

‘What? What did you just say?’ Immediately, Amy’s ears are burning, and _why can’t he just shut up_.

‘It’s our team name, Santiago. Obviously.’

‘Oh good one, Jake! We should have one! What about Bake?’ Boyle is so excited by the prospect of a team name he doesn’t even notice the mustard slowly slipping out of his sandwich.

‘Nope. That’s awful.’ Peralta says quickly.

‘Please.’ Amy shuts her eyes. ‘ _Never_ refer to us as ‘Pantiagio’ in my presence again.’

‘Noted.’

And then, out of nowhere, Diaz laughs. Okay, it’s more of a chuckle than anything, but it definitely happened and it’s enough to stop the momentum of conversation.

 Diaz notices them all staring and sounds slightly prickly when she mutters: ‘What? It was funny. You guys are kind of funny.’

‘So I’ve heard. Although, actually, yeah, never heard that about Amy before,’ Peralta shrugs, ‘Santiago being funny, my incalculable charm must be contagious.’

‘Yeah that’s definitely it.’ Amy rolls her eyes so hard it actually kind of hurts.

‘Yeah.’ Boyle agrees sincerely. Jake waits a second to flash Boyle a smile before leaning forward.

‘Diaz, I have to know. What’s with the cheese sandwich?’

This time the general feel of the room becomes more companionable and Amy gently eases into the new dynamic. Diaz catches her eye and nods slightly at Boyle. There’s a mutual understanding not to say anything as they both wait with bated breath for Boyle to realise mustard has fallen into his lap.

 

iv.

No one ever tells you that grief feels a lot like fear. Amy can’t remember who said that. Amy can’t remember what it’s from or where she heard it. Right now, she can’t seem to remember anything. Just the way Sinéad’s face had looked the last time Amy had seen her.

‘I’ll see you next time, Amy. We’ll go for coffee!’

When Amy had found out she was dead, the first thing she had thought was _liar_. Sinéad was the only one of her colleague’s one who consistently called her Amy, not Santiago or Detective. They had worked one of Amy’s first cases together, bonding over bad first date stories and a mutual love of Italian food. _Never again_ , Amy thinks and it hits her all over again. They try to prepare you for it at police academy, but they never tell you it feels this devastating. Like the world is crumbling underneath your feet. Amy huddles into her jacket and Jake puts his arm around her.

This is the third funeral Amy has been to in as many months, and each one was for a police officer. Amy knew the odds going in, but it’s different when it’s your _twenty-eight_ year old friend. Who was just about to buy her own apartment in Brooklyn. Who loved lavender and hated _Mumford and Sons_. Who’s dead.

When Terry had broken the news to them, he had said that he knew they must be scared, with police officers dropping like flies recently. Amy is not scared, she’s angry and frustrated and _terrified_. She feels disconnected from everything, not paying attention to the service or the other people. She kind of feels like this isn't really happening. Amy feels like she’s drowning; not in the panicked way, she’s not gasping or desperate, she just feels. Submerged.

And then the service is over. Grateful and cheated, and honestly, just really really  _sad_ , Amy stands.

 

v.

There’s something just a little weird about seeing everyone in their non-work clothes. Her brother had still requested formal attire for his ‘laid-back’ wedding, which means Rosa is wearing her best leather jacket and Jake is actually wearing a tie. As a bridesmaid Amy had resigned herself to whatever peach concoction Bridget picked out, but she’d gone with a pretty pale blue that looked nice with Amy’s hair. Bridge, of course, looked gorgeous, the cream setting off her dark skin beautifully. Hell, if Felix wasn't marrying her Amy would have considered it.

The only downside to being a bridesmaid is that you have to stand the whole way through the wedding and Felix had insisted on long vows, poems and like five hymns. Amy took her bridesmaid duties _very seriously_ and she’s obviously ecstatic for them, but she would kill for a chair right now. Not even a chair, a stool would do. Amy shifts to her other foot, tries to keep her smile wide and scans the room from the corner of her eye. Boyle is crying, no surprise there, Rosa looks uncomfortable in that way that means she’s probably happy and Gina is alternatively enraptured by the ceremony and surreptitiously checking her phone. When Amy gets to Jake he’s already looking right her. He waggles his eyebrows and then pointedly returns his attention to the bride and groom.

But when Amy checks their pew thirty minutes later, he’s staring at her again. This time, he hasn’t caught her looking and she inhales as she watches him out the corner of her eye. He isn’t smirking, unusually for Jake, but actually seems a little flustered. Amy exhales and pushes the thought out of her brain. The rest of the church stands and Amy grins wildly as she follows her brother and his wife out the church.

-

When Felix had told her he was going to invite most of her squad to his wedding (drawing the line at Hitchcock and Scully), she’d thought he was kidding. Felix was friendly with most of them, as the only other Santiago living in Brooklyn he’d met them a lot over the last few years, and Felix had always possessed the quality to make friends quickly. Despite this, it was clear that he was inviting them for her benefit, something she appreciated but didn’t think was necessary until the actual reception rolled around. As Amy watches Gina monopolise the dance floor in frankly terrifying fashion, she was suddenly just overwhelmingly glad they were here to share this experience.

Amy doesn’t dance, (not since the eighth grade disco fiasco, screw you, Johnny Sandwell), but it’s kind of compulsory at your brother’s wedding so Amy gets down to bust some moves. And it turns out Amy likes dancing. She’s out of breath with flyaways sticking to her face, and she’s trodden on her skirt too many times to count and she feels exhilarated. The DJ switches to YMCA and everyone whoops. Amy’s having so much fun it takes her a second to realise Jake standing to her left, enthusiastically shouting about young men. She catches his eye, and they grin at each other, caught up in that joyful energy found only in aggressive arm shapes.

-

It’s a few of hours later, the happy couple left about an hour ago and most people dispersed soon after. Amy is sitting massaging her feet, watching her grandparents, the only people on the dance floor, waltz, slightly out of time, to _I can’t help falling in love with you_. And then, Jake’s there. She doesn't see him sit down next to her, but when she stretches, picking up her other foot, he’s sitting to her right, tie no longer present, bobbing to the music. They look at each other for a second and then he smiles.

‘Shall we?’ He gestures to her the dance floor. It takes Amy a second to realise he means dance and she flashes back to the eighth grade disco again. And Amy doesn't dance, and she definitely doesn't slow dance, and she _definitely_ doesn't slow dance with Jake Peralta. But there’s something about the way Jake asks things, like he’s daring her, one foot already forward, and it makes her agree to stuff she would never do in different circumstances.

Which is how Amy and Jake end up slow dancing next to her grandparents to Elvis Presley. It’s awkward; they’re both a little sweaty and Amy can see the cleaning crew in the corner, just waiting for the last people to leave. But Amy’s not sure if she’s ever seen Jake this quiet. He seems contemplative, and right now she really just wants to stick around to see what he’s going to say.

‘Nice wedding.’ He comments, and Amy nods. There’s a pause.

‘You know the Asmar robbery? I reckon we should question the postman again.’ He adds and Amy nods.

‘Nice song.’ He says a few minutes later, Amy nods again.

‘Are you just going to keep nodding?’ Jake laughs and Amy nods.

‘Right, okay then.’ He steadies himself smirking slightly and says with the false bravado of a newscaster. ‘Oh Santiago, do you agree that Jake Peralta is the best detective in Brooklyn? Nay, not Brooklyn, America?’ Amy violently shakes her head and Jake laughs so hard they have to stop dancing. ‘Yeah I know, you think you’re a better detective than me.’

‘I don’t think it,’ Amy tells him tartly, ‘I know it.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Jake’s wearing that grin that can only mean trouble but Amy feels herself start laugh anyway. ‘Wanna bet?’

‘Bet what? Who beats up the most burglars?’

‘Nah, nothing crazy. How about I bet $500 I can close more cases than you in the next two months?’

‘Are you sure you can afford that?’ Amy asks snidely, ‘Plus, you’re days away from closing your drug bust, you’ve got an unfair advantage.’

‘Fine,’ Jake concedes, ‘most cases closed in the next sixth months.’

‘Make it a year.’

‘Deal.’ They vigorously shake hands and they start slow dancing again, despite the fact the DJ is now playing some new Florence and the Machine song.

‘$500 though? That’s a lot.’

‘No backing out now, Peralta.’

‘What about if I offer something just as good?’

‘You own something worth $500?’ Amy asks incredulously.

‘Good point. Actually…’

‘You’re TV is not worth that much Jake, face it. You were ripped off.’

‘I was going to say my car, but TV works.’

‘Your car?’ Amy pauses, ‘You love that thing.’

‘Yep, it’s a sign of how much I know I’m going to win this.’ Jake nods definitively.

‘Oh, you’re on. Car it is.’

‘You realise this means you have to give me something too, right?’

‘Does it? I agreed to the $500.’

‘Santiago.’ Jake whines. ‘Play fair.’

‘Fine, but I’m not giving you my car.’

‘Why would I want that piece of garbage? Nah, what about… if I win you have to eat fifty chicken nuggets in one go.’

‘Ew, that’s disgusting. No way.’

‘Clip Hitchcock’s toenails?’

‘Never as I live and breathe.’

‘You can never say the word ‘ridiculous’ again?’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Okay, okay. I think I’ve got one.’

The cleaning crew have officially started clearing up the tables, the DJ looks like he’s about to leave but Amy cannot seem to drag herself away from this moment. Maybe it’s the champagne, or the pent up emotions, or the memory of the eighth grade disco, but she doesn’t want go quite yet.

‘Amy?’

‘Yes, yep. I’m here. Your suggestion?’

‘If I close more cases than you in the next year, you have to go on a date with me.’ Amy freezes and Jake quickly adds. ‘A horrible date, the worst date ever, I would make you listen to AC/DC.’

‘Sounds suitably horrifying.’ Amy finally agrees, and Jake visibly relaxes. An actual date with Peralta. Amy takes a moment to imagine it and no. No no no. That would never work. Amy hesitates just a second and decides to stop thinking about it.

‘It’s a bet.’

‘It’s a bet.’ Jake grins.

-

Amy has been with Nine-Nine for just over three and a half years now and there’s something about the precinct that’s starting to feel a bit like home. Maybe it’s the constant chaos, or the way she knows exactly how to get the coffee machine to work or maybe it’s the feeling of purpose Amy gets whenever she’s there. This is only her second posting from police academy, but despite a couple of other precincts having the reputation of a little less disarray, for now Amy is happy where she is.

Her partner, Jake Peralta, is the blithest person she’s ever met, he doesn't take much seriously and on her birthday he hired a barbershop quartet. He’s also one of the most competent and meticulous detectives she’s witnessed and is currently only just below her in number of arrests for the month. Charles is a better bet if she wants to chat about food, or dates or dogs. Whatever the topic, Amy can count on Boyle for a bucket enthusiasm and bad advice. Amy, Gina and Rosa make a point to meet up at least once a month, obstinately as an office book club, but the meeting takes place at the local bar and the only book Gina will ever talk about is _The Notebook_.

There’s also Terry and Hitchcock and Scully and that weird guy who’s always selling corndogs in the morning. There’s the toilet that doesn’t flush in the downstairs restroom, the rumour of the new Captain coming soon, there’s interpretative dance and way too much violence and the thrill of catching a criminal.

And yeah, okay, maybe Amy owns an outfit specifically for funerals, but her bridesmaid dress is still hanging up in the back of her closet and she smiles every time she sees it.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Four Weddings and a Funeral because I think I'm clever. I should probably mention that I have not seen the film, I just like the concept.
> 
> The quote Amy is thinking of is 'No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.' - CS Lewis 
> 
> Particularly as I am not American or a police officer, if there any glaring inaccuracies/mistakes, please let me know!


End file.
